


The Rebirth of the Olympians

by emryskynobi



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: F/M, Gen, Implied Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2017-12-23 08:36:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/924186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emryskynobi/pseuds/emryskynobi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A 'what if' the Ragnarok of the Norseman affected more than just their pantheon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Prophecy

**Author's Note:**

> This was partly inspired by my "Titanic Olympians" but you don't need to know that story to read this one. It was also inspired by a Hera/Prometheus story I've been toying around with.

* * *

 

“Are you kidding, Gaea?” Zeus asked.  Pale and shaken, he rubbed his arms restlessly.  It was a mortal habit he’d picked up over the centuries of being living with them.  “How can this be?  We have never had anything to do with the Ragnarök of the Norsemen.”

 

“Nevertheless, I have seen what I have seen,” the voice from the earth spoke.  “And spoken what I have spoken.”

 

Zeus sat back on the rock, knowing that she could not lie.  “Are we able to do anything to avoid this calamity?  Or are we to be destroyed along with them?”  For through Prometheus he had learned all there was to learn of these strange Norsemen.

 

He thought it only fitting when they had been visited by a disguised Odin who had taken an interest – an almost reciprocated interest at that – in Hera.  As he couldn’t just get rid of the god, he had attacked him through the only means available to him – knowledge of who and what he was.

 

Or rather, who Odin’s main wife was.

 

It still bothered him that he’d almost lost his wife to the god.  Had it become necessary, he would’ve chased them down and fought for her.  An idea Hera would've laughed about, looking at him as if his wits had gone begging.  Somehow, he’d forgotten who she was and that she was devoted to him, even if she indulged in a flirtation.

 

She was always his wife.

 

Always his.  “Unlike them, our gifts are not born inside of us.  They may be our birthright but it is a birthright given to us from a guardian who safeguarded it for us until we were ready for them.”

 

“The answer to that is one I do not know,” the voice replied.  “Death is not a certain end for you and your children.”

 

“Nor is it an impossibility,” he replied sadly.  With a deep sigh, he rose and transformed.  The wind blowing across his feathers only made him feel insubstantial, ethereal, as though he was not flesh and blood but merely air.  Merely an essence of something that did not exist at all.  Up to Olympus’ heights, he flew as if in a daze.  The first person he saw, he flew to and nestled near her breast.

 

To say that Hera was surprised was to understate her feelings.  But, as ever with Zeus, she went with her gut reaction and held him close.  After a time, she moved into their bedroom and sat down, leaning against the headboard and wrapped a blanket around them.

 

“What happened with Gaea, my darling love?” she finally asked when Helios had driven across the sky.  The night was eerily dark for Selene was with her husband this night, just as she would be for the next few nights.  Denying the world her light for a time because she needed to reconnect with him.

 

Nestled as he was in the safety of her loving arms, Zeus didn’t want to return to his form.  He didn’t want to tell her about what happened.  And yet, she had asked and he wanted to share his burden with his wife, his soul mate, and his one, eternal love.  “Gaea says that we will be caught up in Ragnarök,” he told her.  “Death is not certain but neither is living through it.”

 

“Has she any advice?” she asked, stroking his cheek.  Inside, she felt none of the calm she was showing.  Terror filled her at the thought of such an unknown, uncontrollable future.  But she knew that she couldn’t let Zeus see it for he needed her to be strong.

 

Later, when she was alone, she would fall apart.

 

“She didn’t offer any – and I didn’t think to ask,” he sighed.  “That isn’t true – I asked if we could avoid this calamity and she had no advice save that death was not certain.”

 

“Then perhaps it is time to bury our grudge with Prometheus and seek his advice.  It seems to me that this situation requires the tricky mind he possesses.”

 

Zeus made a face but had to concede that she had a point.  If anyone could figure out a way to save the gods, it would be Prometheus.  The question was, would he?  Would his own life being spared or preserved be enough motivation for him to help?

 

Or would he only save himself?

 

“You better talk to him,” he said with a sigh.  “He always responded better to you.”

 

“Shall I offer him your sincerest apology before explaining the situation?” she asked, not commenting on his cowardice.  It was only true that Prometheus was more likely to hear her out than him.

 

Her beauty was worth more than just capturing Zeus’ interest after all.

 

He was silent for so long, she almost thought he hadn’t heard her.  The frown on his face was the only thing stopping her from asking again.  Or from prodding for an answer.

 

“My love,” she softly said, her touch gentle upon his face.  “Whatever you decide, I will support you.  Just tell me what you want me to do and I shall see it done.”

 

And she would.

 

Zeus could always count on Hera to keep her word – especially to him.  “I love you,” he said, noting her surprised look.  The softening of her eyes and the blush on her cheeks.

 

“I love you,” she replied, before focusing on the matter at hand.  “But that doesn’t answer my question, Zeus.”

 

“No, but I don’t want to think about it anymore.”

 

“Whether you want to or not is beside the point,” she replied.  “If we wish to come through this alive, we must prepare for it now – not later for it might be too late then.”

 

Pushing her down onto the bed, he removed her veil.  “I’ll trust your judgment in this matter for you have a keen mind and quick understanding, Hera.  You can read his mood and the situation without me telling you what I want you to do.  No more words,” he ordered.

 

“But,” she started, gasping when he shifted his weight slightly.  Her dress disappeared along with his robe.  Her skin heated, feeling his rubbing against hers.  She squirmed when his fingers brushed her side teasingly.

 

“I trust you,” he repeated.  “That’s why you are the true Queen of the gods.  You always do right in the end.”

 

Morning dawned slowly for the Queen and King of the gods.  Hera was the first to wake and she winced in unaccustomed pain.  She didn’t think Zeus had ever loved her with such desperation before – including during their first centuries of wedded bliss.  All she had been able to do was hold on and let him lead her where he would.

 

“Did I hurt you, my love?” he asked, sitting up to look at her.  Gently, he brushed back her hair.  His eyes noticed with some concern the bruises on her throat and skin.  Bruises from his lips and hands as he’d laid siege to her body, to her mind.

 

“Hurt?” she repeated the word.  Tasting it as she examined herself, trying to figure out what she was feeling.  “No, you didn’t hurt me.  Overwhelmed would be a far better word to use.”

 

“In a bad way?”  This was a point of great concern for him.

 

Leaning up, she kissed him softly.  “In a way that I hope you will feel free to do so again.”

 

A wicked smile crossed his face.  That was a response he hadn’t been expecting.  “Really?”

 

“Of course,” she replied, “But not at this particular moment in time.  Now, I must attend to Prometheus and finding a solution to our dilemma.  As much as I would love to stay in bed all morning, doing so will not save us.”

 

“I’ll make it quick,” he promised.

 

“You don’t do quick with me, husband,” she reminded him.  “Need I remind you of our honeymoon?  What started as one night was extended into three hundred because you couldn’t get enough of me.”

 

At that, he let her go.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Hera dressed casually and made the steady climb up the mountain.  In the air, she could see the eagle circling hungrily and she sighed.  Shaking her head, she wondered at Zeus' particular brand of discipline.  First, she needed to get rid of that beast before he harmed Prometheus again.  Her hand reached out and fired a lightening bolt.  The bird went down, never to rise again.

 

The second task was more difficult.  As much as Prometheus liked her, he had a hard time with Zeus.  No surprise there considering their history.  It was one of the reasons she was sure that anytime they needed to talk to him, she went to him.  There had only been one exception and she forced herself not to think of the reason behind it.

 

“Greetings, Lord Prometheus,” she said as she slowly approached the man.  Quickly, she unbound his wrists and feet, helped him to sit down and began to clean his wounds.  To tend to the tears and bruises, to clean and bind them up in healing bandages, adding a touch of her own power to the healing process for she didn't want him to be in agony.  After a while, she rose and helped him drink some nectar.

 

Once he’d drunk his fill, his dark eyes opened and he stared at her, drinking in her beauty.  Never had any woman seemed so wondrous to his eyes.  But it had ever been thus with her.  Only she had ever been a balm to his soul for while the world only saw her haranguing of Zeus, he knew of the noble soul she truly had.  It had been a shame she had never been meant for him for he could have born anything with her by his side.

 

“Queen Hera, you grace me with your presence again.  But I can see in your eyes that the reason is troubling.  Zeus,” he spat out the name, “Has need of my advice.”

 

“Yes, for we are to be involved in the Ragnarök of the Norsemen.”

 

He frowned, not liking the sound of that.  “Go on,” he encouraged, his hand tracing her cheek absently.

 

“From what Gaea says, our survival isn’t assured.  We could all die.  But as we are immortal, born of time and the very elements, we cannot simply fade away from existence.  We cannot simply die as the Norse gods will.  We will be born again – unfortunately, so will Kronus.”

 

“And you want to know what advice I can offer you,” he surmised.

 

Hera sat, silently contemplating him and the words she should speak.  “If it is within you to have compassion upon those who have so wronged you.”

 

A bitter laugh escaped and his hand moved back to cup her head, fingering her silken hair.  Half surprised that she allowed him such intimacies.  For a moment only did he contemplate that she was using his obvious desire for her to manipulate him into doing what she wished.

 

What **_Zeus_** wanted.

 

And just as quickly rejected the idea.

 

No matter what else she was.  No matter what she did, what tools she used to exact revenge, she was not the kind to toy with another sexually.  It was not her manner to play so lightly with another’s emotions.  All too well did she know what it was like to have her emotions be played with.

 

Which had to mean something, but he couldn’t focus on that right now.  He needed to ignore the impulses of his body to pull her closer, to drink in her softness and sweetness.  It had been far too long since he’d been around anything of beauty, of kindness, of _life_.

 

Hera needed his help.  If helping her meant helping that louse of a spouse, then he would do so.

 

But perhaps he would wound the god as terribly as he’d been wounded.

 

He’d take away the only thing that had ever meant anything to Zeus.

 

**_Hera_**.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will be sporadically updated. I'm sorry if this disappoints anyone.

The statue was in a small corner of the museum, covered in a light layer of dust. Even through the sheen of dust upon it, the gaze of the startled woman emerging from a pool was clear and serene. The composure seemed at odds with her charming dishabille.

Long, curling hair trailed down her back but a few tendrils were carefully carved to present an image of a woman fresh from her bath. In her raised hand was a remarkably realistic looking piece of fabric, half shielding her generous breasts from sight. Full hips as well as her long legs were covered by the rest of the fabric, seemingly held into place by her other hand.

“She’s beautiful,” the young man breathed out, brushing back a lock of his strange silver white hair.

Strange for it was his natural coloring, unaided by dye. His dark eyes studied her, wondering about the beauty he saw. By today’s standards, he supposed that she would be thought of as unattractive, as having an unflattering figure for it was curvier than trends say it should be. Why she would be in this part of the museum when other pieces of statuary were in the open foyer, more exposed to the public and acclaim was a mystery to him.

“I wonder what she looked like painted in bright colors – and who she is supposed to be.” From what the guide had told them, the goddess known as Aphrodite had been rejected as a candidate, as had Hera. For even though she was beautiful, she had neither crown nor the veil that had typified Hera in mythology. Nor did they believe that Hera would ever be carved as a nude.

They’d been told of the debate that raged about whether this was supposed to be a young woman or an adult woman. What they did know for certain was that this was the statue of a goddess. Archeologists had been able to match the symbol for deity in Linear A with the one in Linear B.

But that was all they could make out about the writing. For unlike with the Egyptian hieroglyphics, they had not found a Rosetta Stone to help them figure it out. Linear A was an unknown language and did not share enough symbols with Linear B to even make an attempt at a basic translation key.

Peering down at the writing, the brown eyed woman with him shook her head. Her clear alto voice rang out as she straightened, brushing back her long, curling, honey blond hair. “It only reiterates what the guide says – this is an unknown Achaean goddess. Though she may have come from a culture that predates them. There is a possibility that she is Artemis but others debate that the obvious adulthood of the woman makes her a mature woman, possibly Hestia or Demeter.”

Glancing sideways at him, she noted the disappointment on his face and worried for a moment. Zach often got these weird fixations. She hoped that this wouldn’t be one of them. They were still trying to recover from the whirlwind that had been Lena.

“Hey, Zach, Deanna,” Adrian called out. “The tour is over here, looking at the torture machines.” There was definite relish in his voice and deep, sea green eyes. Unlike most of the students, his black hair was long for he refused to cut it no matter how many points they took away from him.

“You are so bizarre,” Deanna said with a shudder.

“At least I don’t have a fondness for frolicking in the newly plowed fields,” his voice implied that frolicking wasn’t what she was known for doing but that he was going to respect the place and keep his words decent.

She glared at him before striding off to join the tour.

“She’ll never forgive you for that,” Zach warned, his eyes still focused on the statue of the unknown goddess.

Adrian walked over, studying this image that held his friend captivated. It so rarely happened that he was curious to find who could hold Zach’s eyes. Though attractive, he never dated. Neither men nor women ever captured his attention - and many had tried, Lena being the only disastrous success. Adrian thought it had something to do with his dad's behavior. The man had been a drunken, abusive womanizer who’d forced him to grow up faster than most kids. Zach had often sought refuge with him and his parents, trying to escape the fighting at home.

“Yes, she will – when she needs my chem. notes. If there’s one thing she stinks at, its chem. I’ve got top marks in the class – and don’t require payment of any kind,” he shrugged. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you that it’s bad to fall into lust with statues?”

That snapped him out of his study – temporarily – and he glared at the taller man. “Very funny, but look at her,” he almost pleaded. His hand gestured towards the statue. “The perfection in that face alone is enough to melt the hardest of hearts.”

“She’s all right,” he conceded after a moment of study. “But I can’t be an impartial judge for you know I only have eyes from Kressy. All women pale in comparison to her radiant self.” Kressy - short for Kresida – had been his girlfriend since junior high. They’d been together for four years and their relationship showed no signs of lightening up, most agreed that they were alter bound.

Cynics thought they were only together because the sex was beyond fantastic.

Those who knew them knew the truth. The two were plain crazy about each other. And they liked each other as well, adding strength to their union. Zach wondered if he’d ever find someone who completed him so utterly that being without them would be living a half-life. Knowing better than to argue when it came to her, he gave one last look at the statue before the two walked into the other room.

 

* * *

 

 

He was back the next day to stare at the statue. Unable to get her out of his head, she’d haunted his dreams throughout the night. Eyes that seemed so cold spoke of a message to him, one he desperately wished to translate. “Why do I have the feeling that we know each other?” he quietly asked.

“Do you believe in reincarnation then, Zach?” Kresida asked from behind him. “I never would’ve pegged you as the type.”

A disdainful breath escaped him, “I’m not. It’s just…when I stand here and look at that face…I feel like I know this woman. That we’ve met somewhere before. I feel almost as if she were to awaken, we would find everything and nothing to talk about. We could sit in silence and know what the other was thinking without effort or question.”

“Sounds like reincarnation to me,” she replied. Her hazel eyes twinkled as she brushed back a lock of brownish gold hair.

“Call it what you will, Kresida – you usually do,” he sighed, giving up. This was one woman he’d never been able to talk to without feeling completely ignorant.

“Although, I’ve never heard of a situation of soul mate reincarnation,” she mused. Taking another look at the face, she shook her head. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen any ancient statue that’s kept its perfect appearance.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s no time damage,” she simply replied. “Looking at her, one could believe that she’d been carved recently. I don't think she's even been painted, nothing about her indicates the possibility of it.  But the style, the strokes of the chisel and hammer are definitely of ancient Achaea.”

Now that she’d pointed it out, he could see the difference in this statue. The others found around her looked weathered, chipped, and cracked from the centuries of exposure. “But…how could that be?” he mused and then froze, hearing the familiar sound of the army marching down the street.


End file.
